


a collection of cold nights

by orphan_account



Series: all of our magics [3]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 19:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13197444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Three assorted nights during the Winter months of the war.





	a collection of cold nights

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for getting this out so late but i was busy with winter exams and then with the holidays, but hey i'm glad to finally post. disclaimers for discussion of mental health issues including suicidal idealation.

It was a cold night- not that it ever wasn’t, these days. There was only so much warmth that summoned fire could draw from its conjurer before the magician gave up all of their body heat. Heated flames were gravely dangerous to summon for anybody who did not dedicate themselves to the art of fire. But, whether from lack of knowledge or from lack of caring, plenty of fires were held out over the desperate hands of freezing amateurs.  

 

In a dark room, meanwhile, two men were laying on the floor side by side, both unable to sleep. The shorter one huffed loudly at the other, who was bouncing a bit of blue light up and down. “Laurens, would you stop flinging that Firefly about?”

 

“No,” Laurens said stubbornly. “It’s bored and wants to play.”

 

“But-”

 

“Shh,” Laurens whispered as he pawed the Firefly. “You’re giving it a migraine, Hamilton.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Hamilton pointed out, “fireflies aren’t even alive, much less able to feel headaches or boredom.”

 

In unison, they turned their heads to look at each other, both smiling despite their bickering. In order to accommodate his new position, Laurens let the Firefly dance about his spinning index finger. He chuckled a bit, and then said, “I must’ve made a magical breakthrough, then.”

 

Hamilton’s grin was light and simple. “I never expected any less of you.” He summoned his own Firefly with a few words in Sanskrit, feeling a bit of wind rush over him. 

 

Fireflies were a bit of magic that got passed around, soldier to soldier. It was simply a little ball that was made of light and took very little effort to cast. Though it had no substance, one could direct it with their finger, and it was an entertaining way to pass the time between battles. It had just about dimmed down in popularity when Washington’s aides had found it and proceeded to obsess over the little things.

 

While Laurens’ Firefly was blue, Hamilton’s always presented itself as green. Blue, that patriotic color that was all around, in the uniforms and the sea and the sky before night but after twilight. Green, that flawed color of that green-eyed monster, found in the emeralds that greedy kings hoard and in the weeds that challenged the growth of fruits. 

 

Though, Laurens once said that that green had such an undeserved reputation. It had been a sentiment said when Laurens was clinging onto Hamilton like a petulant child in order to drag the latter man away from his work. They had both been annoyed at each other at the time, but it was a happy memory, really.

 

“Bet my Firefly can reach farther than yours,” Hamilton challenged, having practiced letting his Firefly go up to four feet away from him. 

 

“Like hell,” Laurens whispered arrogantly. 

 

The two men returned to lying flat on their backs, staring at the ceiling. Laurens seemed eager to begin, twirling his firefly over his right hand as if every complete revolution earned the Continentals a new pair of boots, each. But Hamilton looked over at the man next to him, just because he could. He absently noted that Laurens was the only person he could stand to slow down for. 

 

It was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment decision, but Hamilton switched his Firefly to his left and grasped Laurens’ idle hand with his right. For a moment, Laurens looked over, puzzled. But comprehension seemed to sink in a second later. Because, just as Hamilton betrayed one of his defining characteristics for Laurens, Laurens lost those walls of pride, hot-temperedness, and self-imposed isolation for Hamilton. 

 

The two of them were similar. Before they’d learned to take a deep look at each other, they found themselves  _ too  _ similar. Competitiveness, stubbornness, and the longing to make something out of a short existence. It was rare for those who carried those traits to mix well with another who did, the combination usually spawning hateful rivalries or bitter misunderstandings. It was something that they laughed about now, but at the same time, Hamilton let his eyes connect with Laurens’, and wondered how he could ever looked at the man with anything but devotion.

 

Opposites might attract, but they were each other's missing halves.

 

After a few seconds, Laurens tightened his grip on Hamilton’s hand. As a way of explanation, he whispered, “your Firefly dissolved. I win.”

 

“I zoned out, that’s not fair.”

 

“Hmph. I spent all of that time seducing you, and I don’t even get credit when you can’t focus on anything but my terrible-looking face. It’s an accomplishment, you know.”

 

Giving out a snort, Hamilton used his now-Fireflyless hand to draw a finger down Laurens’ nose. “Oh, come off of it, you’re gorgeous.” The other man looked like he didn’t quite believe Hamilton, but that he appreciated it nonetheless. “I do hope you’ll not forget it.”

 

“I do hope you’ll always remind me,” Laurens replied, a little sleepily. He let his Firefly diminish, and tucked his hand under his head as a cushion.

 

“Of course I always will,” Hamilton muttered, also feeling the tiredness set in.

 

They fell asleep curled up on the floor, together, waking up only when the sun stretched over their eyes.

 

* * *

 

It was a cold night and the General’s correspondence kept all of the aides up until long past dark, but Hamilton and Laurens were the last to retire from their work. The two of them were notoriously terrible at keeping asleep, especially with the increasing anxiety of being trapped in the encampment of Valley Forge with just about naught coming in from the Continental Congress. Late nights were becoming as long as the nights, as long as the midday shadows. 

 

Hamilton looked as if he were dead on his feet, probably having only been able to write letters this far due to muscle memory. Laurens sighed, and walked over to Hamilton. After all, as the most lucid insomniac out of the two of them, it was up to Laurens to help Hamilton out. 

 

Sometimes, though, that didn’t mean that it was the best for Laurens to baby Hamilton or to tuck the man into bed. Sometimes, it meant dragging him out into the shocking cold so that the two of them gasped with the shock of it. It meant running to the treeline, laughing while they did, and climbing into a tree’s boughs. 

 

“You know,” Hamilton started, because of course he was the first to speak, “sometimes I’m not sure we’ll win the war. Especially times like this. Sometimes, I feel like running off to some distant land, where nobody knows who I was. But I can’t bring myself to even  _ think _ it’s a good idea.” 

 

Running his hands through Hamilton’s hair, Laurens let silence encompass the two of them. Sometimes, Hamilton needed to monologue. 

 

“This war…” Hamilton let out a large sigh, and then continued, “I had always hoped for something like it. Some war that I would join, and I would either climb the ranks or die fighting for some cause that I really, truly believe in. Preferably in a way that would be remembered forever. I just have this need to go down in history, for people to remember my name.”

 

_ And I will always remember you,  _ Laurens thought to himself, though not daring to interrupt.

 

“But I look at our situation, as a country- as a small band of rebellious teenagers, and I start questioning if all of that is even possible. I look at our collections on magic compared to the Tories, and I feel so frustrated that we didn’t think to secure the New York Collection. I look at everyone I’ve met, I look at them for as long as proprietary limits, and even then I look for a bit longer, and I feel like I’m just not fit for- for this.”

 

Knowing an invitation to comment when he hears one, Laurens asked, “what do you mean by ‘this?’”

 

“Everything,” Hamilton breathed out, sad and beautiful, and, oh, how Laurens wanted to hold Hamilton tight and never let anybody near the two of them. “There’s something about almost every action I take that makes it feel like I’m marching through quicksand while I have a fever. Sluggish and delusional.”

 

“I know,” Laurens whispered, and then pulled Hamilton a bit closer. “It feels like that life you had when you were younger is the only real thing, like you’ve been dead ever since that one thing changed, and you’re walking in a haze, now. And everybody says,  _ ‘this is the real world,’  _ but if anything, this is the dream. As if the world ended long ago and you’re walking through an echo.”

 

After Hamilton snuggled a bit closer into him, Laurens almost casted a heat spell to warm the smaller man, but decided against it. Hamilton would just get upset that Laurens was sacrificing his own body heat ‘for nothing.’ They’d had the argument many times over in the last few months, and since Laurens wasn’t particularly gifted in the art of debate, he didn’t wish to bring it up again when he would inevitably lose.

 

“It isn’t fair,” Hamilton murmured into Laurens’ coat. “I don’t like that you can relate to this shitty feeling.”

 

“How do you think I feel, that you relate to mine?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Laurens smirked. “That’s a first.”

 

Smiling now, Hamilton nudged his head into Laurens’ chest. It must’ve been intended as some sort of combative gesture, but in reality, all it happened to be was endearing. “Shut up.”

 

“I don’t feel the haze as much when I’m with you,” Laurens said suddenly. He didn’t even recall thinking about saying it, about turning the statement over in his head. And maybe he didn’t have to ensure that whatever he said was said  _ carefully-  _ not around Hamilton. “That is to say, it’s still there, but in moments like these, I feel solid. Whenever I’m with you, I mean.”

 

While Laurens didn’t quite know what he expected as a response, it certainly wasn’t Hamilton humming contentedly, as if hearing good news he’d heard already but that never seemed to dull in impact. “I understand. For me, it’s less like I’m gaining solidity, but like I’m learning how to swim. It’s the opposite of looking at someone and getting tongue tied. It’s looking at  _ you  _ and suddenly all I can see are verses and words that are as perfectly composed as their inspiration is.”

 

“Always trying to one-up me,” Laurens teased. “I do try to match you in the theatrics department, but I dare to say that you’re an expert.”

 

“Whenever I see you, I want to take your hand in mine and run away, away from the war and away from everything that ensures we can’t be by each other’s side,” Hamilton declared, the goddamn sap.

 

Oh, but Laurens  _ adored _ him for it.

 

Kissing the top of Hamilton’s hair, Laurens muttered, “let’s get you inside and asleep. Goodness knows that you need it.”

 

* * *

 

It was a cold night, with the snow only getting thicker and the nights only getting darker. Hamilton’s hands weren’t working properly anymore, and the ink was freezing on the quill’s tip. He glared at the open window, and then, resignedly began packing up his materials. His expression became a little less angry when he looked at the reason that the outside chill was seeping into the bedroom. Laurens, ever the daredevil, was trying to create tangible platforms out of solid air.

 

For this endeavor, Hamilton had sacrificed a single quill. “You’ll get it back,” Laurens had promised. He’d held the quill up to his face and stared at it with borderline awe. “I can’t wait to start this experiment, I’ll be able to pull so many pranks,” he said absently, and walked to the window, focused, and then threw the quill out of the window.

 

Laurens had summoned it back to him, but the poor quill had frost clinging to it, and the heat from Laurens’ warm hands promptly melted the frost and made the quill damp, probably ruining it for good. 

 

Hamilton thought that it was just about the most endearing thing ever. 

 

The way that Laurens was dedicated wholly to his experiments, the wonder in his eyes. His determination was unique, his expression bold. The whispering of spells on Laurens’ breath, the cursing when something fell through the air without resistance, the  _ joy  _ when even an only semi-tangible platform was formed. It was something like drinking water after wandering in a desert for days on end. 

 

Hamilton thought that he could give everything material of his to Laurens, just so that he could watch the taller man throw it out the window.

 

(A certain amount of context was needed to fully understand their relationship.)

 

Getting up, Hamilton walked over to where Laurens was scribbling something down on his arm, his sleeve pulled to his elbow. “Do be careful not to cut yourself,” Hamilton murmured, plucking the writing quill out of Laurens’ hand. “The ink’s beginning to clump and freeze, anyways.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Laurens whispered a spell to return the experiment quill back to his hand. He used another spell to dry it, and then dipped it in the inkwell. “You once ran out of ink while writing up a post-battle report and decided that the blood from the stab wound in your shoulder would make an excellent substitute.”

 

“You bandaged me up excellently once you realized what I had been doing,” Hamilton protested lightly. “And that was only one time.”

 

“That I know of,” Laurens replied smoothly, dropping onto his bed and writing a few last words on his forearm. Once finished, he put the inkwell and quill on a nearby table without getting up to stand.

 

“That was only three times.” Really, Hamilton wanted to protest in a stronger manner, to argue that it really didn’t matter or that he’d needed to get the report done, but he couldn’t. Laurens reclined slightly, supporting his weight with both arms, with his chin raised subtly and eyes concerned. No matter the amount of works of art Hamilton might’ve seen, the sunsets watched or poetry read, there was nothing quite as beautiful as what was right in front of him.

 

“You’re staring,” Laurens said softly, almost surprised. 

 

Smiling, Hamilton sat down next to Laurens, and if he nuzzled his face into the taller man’s neck, well, nobody was keeping count. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t give for you, you know.”

 

It was in that same pleasantly bemused voice that Laurens replied softly, “I think that if it were possible, I would give you the stars. Even if it were, I don’t think I really ever could give you what you’ve already hung in the sky.”

 

“Operating on the assumption that you  _ haven’t _ mistaken me for some omnipotent god, I must say that there was some certain inspiration for how I reportedly arranged the sky.”

 

“I thought I saw a constellation in the shape of your inkwell,” Laurens mused, placing an arm around Hamilton, who gave a small chuckle in response. 

 

Hamilton nudged Laurens until they were both lying on the too-small cot, their heads angled towards the windows and cheeks pressed together. There was a decent view of the stars, and so Hamilton set to letting his mind project images onto the patterns inscribed into the inky black.

 

It seemed that Laurens had been thinking the same thing, because then he said, “I see a house, drawn there. It’s a bit humble, but I couldn’t care less. It has a garden out front, can you see it?”

 

“If I squint.”

 

“Well, then squint. But I see the two of us there, and we’re in the office sitting at twin desks, and you’re writing up some treatise and I’m writing up some naturalist’s report, maybe, or I’m working on some political essay on my own. The war’s over- we’ve won the war- and life couldn’t be fuller.” Laurens shifted his arm as if to hold Hamilton closer, but the latter had already shifted into a sitting position, staring at Laurens for a long while.

 

For honesty's sake, Hamilton was shocked. It was completely unlike what he knew of Laurens to be invested in some dream of the far off and far-fetched future. They’d both, at some point or another, admitted that they weren't certain that life was even worth it. Always through letters. If ever they admitted it face-to-face, however, they never failed to use the past tense. It was difficult to feel despair when they were with each other. But to so openly dream about their future?

 

It was beautiful.

 

Laurens was beautiful.

 

This moment, pressed beside each other in defiance of the cold while they made up their own constellations, this was beautiful. 

 

But how to express it..? 

 

For a while, Hamilton just nudged his head close to Laurens, thinking and smiling. He practiced the speech a few times in his head, crossing out and adding words in his mind’s eye, before coming up with his final draft.

 

“I meant what I said earlier, about giving you anything.”

 

The smile was practically tangible in Laurens’ tone. “Oh?”

 

“I’d give the world to you, you know. I’d stage a coup of every government, I’d wage war on nature itself, until finally it’s all been conquered. I’d control everything within- and everything just outside of- human reach. But suddenly, I’d stop for a while, let the world stew in wake of my sudden inactivity, let them gossip and spread rumors and grasp for any explanation as to why. And then, while the entire world is watching, I’d give it all to you.”

 

For a moment, Laurens didn’t respond. Anxieties filled Hamilton immediately, and he sat up, staring at Laurens’ flabbergasted face. He took Laurens’ hands in his own, and asked, “was that too much? Should I not have said that? Are-“

 

“Hamilton,” Laurens whispered, and smiled, “it’s okay. I love you, too.”

 

“Stay by me,” Hamilton asked before he could stop himself, “stay by me, if not in body then by spirit. Please.”

 

“I promise that I will,” Laurens assured seriously. But it didn’t hold for long, his face cracking into a smile. “With the most honorable intentions and to the fullest extent.”

 

The same grin made its way onto Hamilton’s expression, and he swatted playfully at Laurens’ ear. “We were having a moment!”

 

“Oh, don’t be upset, my dear boy,” Laurens said as he sat up, as well. “So as long as we’re together, every moment is ours, and I’m not going to leave without a fight.”

 

And then, as they were each smiling into the other’s kiss, each found that the night wasn’t really as cold anymore.


End file.
